Some Sweet Day

by Bryan Woolley

“By Christmas?” Uncle Toy asked quietly. He smiled sadly, shaking his head.

  “I wouldn’t have any field work to do before spring,” Daddy said. “Gate and Lacy could help me with the animals.”

  “We got no guarantee that you’ll be ready to work even by spring.”

  “You got my promise.”

  “You can’t make promises for your legs, Will.”

  “Couldn’t you take that much of a risk?”

  Uncle Toy shook his head.

  “What’s a man supposed to do, then? I got a family to support, you know.”

  “You can work for me,” Uncle Toy said.

  “Doing what? I couldn’t carry your carcasses for you.”

  Uncle Toy shrugged. “We could think of something. Driving the hearse, maybe. Times being what they are, I don’t think it would hurt none to have a veteran in the organization. Especially if he’s…”

  “A cripple?”

  “I wasn’t going to say that, Will.”

  “It don’t matter. You were thinking it. Oscar?”

  “Huh?”

  “What do you think, brother?”

  He shrugged. “I ain’t got a job for you, Will. Lifting those feed sacks and all…”

  “That ain’t what I’m talking about. Me and you own most of that farm. If you say so, I can go back.”

  Uncle Oscar twisted the eraser, carefully watching the lead slide out of his Eversharp. “There’s nothing I’d rather do, Will. You know that. I’d give anything in the world if I could…”

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Uncle Oscar slid the lead back into his Eversharp and stuck it in his shirt pocket. The chair scraped the bare wooden floor as he scooted it from the table and stood up.

  Uncle Toy smiled, buttoned his collar and pulled his tie knot taut. “Let’s go, Oscar,” he said. “I got some work to do.”

  Uncle Oscar paused at the door. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “You’ve got your disability pay coming, anyway.”

  I felt the yank on my arm and woke up. Rick was standing by my bed, stark raving naked, yelling, “Up! Up!” and jerking my arm every time he yelled.

  “Cut it out. Rick! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Up! Up!”

  “Rick, now, stop it! Get out of here!”

  He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling behind the row of tiny freckles across his nose. I laughed, and leaned over and grabbed him under the arms and yanked him onto the bed. I straddled him and played like I was socking him again and again in the face.

  “Pow! Pow! Take that, and that, and that!”

  He started giggling and wiggling around, and I rolled over like he’d knocked me off of him, and he climbed on me and started pounding me on the chest. Then he stopped, breathing hard, and looked down at me like he was wondering what to do next. I tickled him in the ribs, and he fell over on the bed, squealing and wiggling.

  “Gate!” Mother called from the kitchen. I smelled coffee and bacon.

  “What?”

  “Leave that kid alone and get up. Breakfast is nearly ready.”

  “Okay.” Rick was lying on his belly, his white rump gleaming in the sunshine. “Get up and get some clothes on,” I said.

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Got to potty.”

  “Well, go on.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Oh, all right. I’ll sure be glad when you learn to wipe yourself.”

  “Me, too.”

  I got up and put on my shirt and overalls. Rick grabbed my finger, and we walked to the back porch, where the pot was, and he sat down.

  “Gate, come on! Breakfast is ready!” Mother yelled.

  “I can’t. Rick’s on the pot, and I’m helping him.”

  “Well, tell him to hurry.”

  Rick was grunting and red in the face. “Aren’t you through yet?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, hurry. I can’t stand here all day.”

  I heard a footstep behind me and turned. Daddy was standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d just gotten up. His hair was all messed up, and black whiskers were standing out on his face. He had his pants on, but just the top button was buttoned. The fly was open, and his belt wasn’t buckled. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I could see his ribs sticking out, even under his undershirt. He leaned into his sticks. His eyes looked small and very black behind his glasses, and I felt like they were boring two holes right through me.

  “What’s the trouble?” he asked. His voice sounded funny, like he needed to clear his throat.

  “Nothing. Rick’s on the pot, and I’m going to wipe him when he gets up.”

  “Breakfast is ready. Can’t you hear?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Can’t you hear?”

  “Yes.” Rick was still grunting behind me.

  “Well, why don’t you come, then?”

  “Rick’s not through.”

  Daddy moved past me and stood looking down at Rick. Rick glanced up, then lowered his head again and looked at Daddy’s knees. He was still grunting. His face was still red.

  “Get off the pot, Rick,” Daddy said.

  “I’m not through,” Rick said.

  “Get up anyway.”

  “No.”

  “What did you say?”

  “No.”

  Daddy’s right hand dropped a stick, and his belt came out of the belt loops like a black snake. It whistled and smacked down hard across Rick’s small shoulders. Rick screamed, and he and the pot turned like they were about to topple over, but they didn’t. Rick stuck to the pot like he was glued to it. Daddy hit him again, and this time Rick fell forward, and the pot flew into the air and spilled. Daddy hit again and again. I was crying now, and I turned to run into the house, but Mother was coming through the door.

  “Will, stop it!” she screamed, but he acted like he didn’t hear her.

  “Will!”

  Daddy dropped his belt and shifted his stick to his right hand.

  “Will.”

  The stick came down hard across Rick’s neck. His head hit the floor, and he was quiet. Daddy raised the stick again, then everything stopped. He stood there, his stick poised like a saber. Mother’s eyes were big. Her hands were cupped over her mouth, like she was drinking from them. Rick was wet with pee. His face looked like he was crying, but he wasn’t. It was very quiet. I thought we were going to stay that way forever. Then Mother ran and snatched Rick up and shook him.

  “Breathe, damn you! Breathe!” she screamed. Then she hugged him to her and broke down and cried. Rick’s back and legs were crisscrossed with long welts that were getting redder and redder. I ran to Mother and grabbed her leg and cried into her skirt. She stepped toward Daddy, and I moved back. He was still standing there with the stick above his head. Mother moved right up to him, until she was standing right under the stick. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was gritting her teeth so hard that I could hear them grinding together.

  “God damn you, Will Turnbolt!” she screamed. “God damn you!”

  “‘O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am weak. O Lord, heal me, for my bones are vexed. My soul is also sore vexed. But thou, O Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, deliver my soul. Oh, save me for thy mercies’ sake. For in death there is no remembrance of thee. In the grave who shall give thee thanks? I am weary with my groaning. All the night make I my bed to swim. I water my couch with my tears. Mine eye is consumed because of grief. It waxeth old because of all mine enemies. Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity, for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping…’”

  Brother Haskell wept as he read the psalm. He stumbled over the words, pausing again and again to wipe the tears from his eyes. Once he pulled the white handkerchief from his breast pocket and blew his nose. There was weeping all around me. Gran had take
n off her glasses and was crying into a flowered handkerchief. Mother was sobbing softly. Her tears glided down her face and dropped on Cherry Ann’s frilly pink dress, but Cherry Ann still slept soundly on Mother’s lap. Belinda stood in the space between the pews, peering over the back of the pew in front of her. She would look around at me, tears and questions in her eyes, but I couldn’t look back at her. The small gray casket and the spray of red roses were a watery blur before me. The casket top was open. I couldn’t see Rick, but I knew he was in there.

  Harley and Ellen sat at one end of our pew, and Jim Bob, Virgie and Joe George at the other. In the row behind us were the Allisons. Bill Allison sat behind me, and the odor of the mothballs he’d taken his suit out of was even stronger than the sickeningly sweet scent of all the flowers that were arranged on tall stands at each end of the casket.

  I’d never seen so many people in church before. The windows were open wide, but it was very hot, anyway, and many of the women cooled themselves with cardboard fans with the picture of Jesus praying that were always stuck in the songbook racks on the backs of the pews.

  A-bide with me: fast falls the e-ven-tide;

  The dark-ness deep-ens; Lord, with me a-bide:

  When oth-er help-ers fail, and com-forts flee,

  Help of the help-less, O a-bide with me!

  “I don’t know what the Lord had in mind when he took Richard Henry Turnbolt,” Brother Haskell said. “He was a little boy, hardly big enough to sin. He wasn’t yet to the age of accountability. But the Lord must have seen in that small body there a means to work his will, and he used it. What was the Lord’s will? Why did Richard Henry Turnbolt die to accomplish it? Our souls are fallen and cannot comprehend. We grieve because a child has died. Yet we know that death in the Lord—and children always die in the Lord—is not the end, but the beginning of a far, far better life that will never end! We miss him because he is small and beautiful and we love him. But, brothers and sisters, it’s just for a little while! We are going to see Richard Henry Turnbolt in glory, by and by! The Lord sees even the sparrows that fall out of the air. How much more closely he must be looking out for Richard Henry Turnbolt!

  “As for him that committed this foul deed, what is to be said for him? That he is to be hated? No. That he is to be despised? No. ‘To me belongeth vengeance and recompence,’ saith the Lord. ‘Their foot shall slide in due time, for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.’ Don’t be angry, brothers and sisters! Don’t be afraid! The Lord will take care of things!”

  Then he prayed.

  We shall reach the riv-er side,

  Some sweet day, some sweet day;

  We shall cross the storm-y tide,

  Some sweet day, some sweet day.

  We shall press the sands of gold,

  While before our eyes un-fold

  Heav-en’s splen-dor yet un-told,

  Some sweet day, some sweet day.

  While the choir sang, we started out of the pews for our last look at Rick. Harley and Ellen moved aside and let Mother and Gran go ahead of them. Then Ellen grabbed Belinda’s hand and Harley grabbed mine and walked us to the casket. Harley picked me up and held me so I could look in. Rick was dressed in the little blue sailor suit and the sandals that Gran had brought him from Comanche. His hair was brushed into the long curl down the middle of his head that Mother used to make when she dressed him up, and his hands lay loosely open on his belly. He looked like he was asleep. Mother reached into the casket and squeezed his hand, then turned away.

  Bill Allison was standing there. “Lacy,” he said, “if you’d let me, I’d put this in with him.”

  “All right, Bill,” she said.

  He laid a rabbit’s foot in Rick’s hand.

  We shall meet our loved and own,

  Some sweet day, some sweet day;

  Gath-ering round the great white throne,

  Some sweet day, some sweet day.

  By the tree of life so fair,

  Joy and rap-ture ev-’ry-where,

  O, the bliss of o-ver there!

  Some sweet day, some sweet day.

  The long, black funeral-home car was very hot when we got in, although all the windows were down. Cherry Ann woke up and started crying. Mother rocked back and forth in the seat, trying to quiet her.

  “We should have taken Virgie up on her offer to stay home with her,” Gran said.

  Mother shook her head. “Someday it’s going to be important to her to know she was here,” she said.

  Belinda stood on the back seat. I was on my knees beside her, looking through the back window at all the cars following us up the hill to the cemetery. The hearse and our car went on through the cemetery gate and moved slowly among the tombstones to the green awning that had been stretched above the hole where we were going to put Rick. The other cars stopped alongside the road, and the people piled out of them and tramped up the gentle rise to the gate.

  Brother Haskell stood, Bible clasped to breast, at the head of the grave while Harley and Jim Bob carried Rick’s casket from the hearse and laid it on the two poles that had been laid across the hole. They stepped back with us then, and Jim Bob put his arm around Mother’s shoulders. She had handed Cherry Ann to Virgie, and Virgie was jiggling her up and down in her arms. Cherry Ann gurgled.

  “‘Let not your heart be troubled,’” Brother Haskell read. “‘Ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself, that where I am, there ye may be also.’”

  And he prayed. The scalloped edges of the awning popped like small flags in the breeze.

  Harley and Jim Bob and Bill and one of the men from the funeral home passed two ropes under Rick’s casket and lifted it, and another man from the funeral home moved the poles away from the hole. The men lowered the casket, then yanked the ropes out from under it. Harley grabbed the shovel that was sticking up in the mound of dirt next to the hole and held it out to Mother.

  She shook her head. “The man of the family ought to be first,” she said, and pointed to me.

  Harley handed me the shovel. “All right, son,” he said. “Do you know what to do?”

  “Yes.”

  I carried the shovel to the dirt pile, filled it as heavy as I could lift, and threw the dirt into the hole.

  “‘The Lord is my shepherd,’” Brother Haskell said. “‘I shall not want.’”

  I handed the shovel back to Harley, and he picked up some dirt and helped Mother carry it.

  “‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters.’”

  Then Gran.

  “‘He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’”

  Then Harley.

  “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”

  Then Jim Bob.

  “‘Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over.’”

  Then Bill.

  “‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’”

  We were about to get back into the funeral-home car when I saw him standing in the shade of a big cedar among the tombstones. A man wearing a gun was with him, and Daddy looked very lonesome.

  We were moving. I didn’t know why, or exactly where, but we were. All our furniture and stuff was out in the front yard, and people were driving up in cars and pickups and wagons, and Mother and Gran were selling it for whatever they were offered, and the people were hauling it off. By sundown, there was nothing left but a couple of broken-down chairs and one book end and a few old shoes and books and stuff. Gran just gathered them all up an
d took them out to the trash pile and set fire to them.

  We rattled like marbles in that empty house. Mother and Gran moved around, folding clothes and putting them in suitcases and cardboard boxes and Gran’s old trunk. Their footsteps echoed through the rooms. Belinda followed them around, talking to them and getting in their way. Cherry Ann was asleep in a washtub with some quilts in it. The house seemed darker with everything gone. The bare light-bulbs dangling from the ceilings looked dimmer than before, and the shadows of all of us were bigger and darker than I remembered them being. The wallpaper was faded and spotted with soot and water rings. The linoleum was cracked and broken. I’d never noticed these things before. The house was old and worn-out. I was glad we were leaving it. I wished we were already gone.

  “Gate, come help us pack the car,” Mother said. “Belinda can watch the baby.”

  “Okay.”

  Gran’s car was parked under the tree next to the back door. She was poking around inside the trunk with a flashlight.

  “I think the suitcases and some of the boxes will fit in here, Lacy,” she said. “The rest can go on top.”

  “Yeah, but if we tie the baby bed on the back, we can’t open the trunk,” Mother said.

  “I know. We’ll just have to wear the same clothes until we get there. Cherry Ann’s diapers can go in the front seat with us.”

  “Well, okay. God, I dread this.”

  “So do I. But we have to do what we have to do, so we might as well get started.”

  We lifted and pulled and shoved. Gran’s old trunk was the hardest part. It had to go between the seats, and since it was a two-door car, it was hard to get the thing in. I got inside the car and pulled on the handle, and Mother and Gran shoved and turned the trunk every which a way until we finally got it in. The top of the trunk was almost level with the back seat, so we spread quilts over it all and made a pretty cozy-looking pallet.

  I climbed to the top of the car, onto the rack that Pearly White had given us, and Mother and Gran heaved boxes and bundles up to me. I piled them the best I could, covered the whole thing with a sheet, and tied it down with some cotton rope. Then we tied the two spare tires on the front, and the pieces of Cherry Ann’s bed on the back.

  “What’s left?” Gran asked, poking the flashlight around in the darkness.